


The wind calls out, "Know thy name"

by asemic



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Body Horror, Environment, Gen, Inspired by Annihilation (2018), M/M, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 13:30:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17919728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asemic/pseuds/asemic
Summary: The Arctic sparks a change in the men.





	The wind calls out, "Know thy name"

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by **Annihilation** and my need for the odd and surreal.

In a sudden waterfall of flame, Cornelius Hickey became the first to shed his form. 

It began when his body cracked along the creases and grooves of his skin. He resembled a porcelain doll with opalescent spiderwebs glowing in the low lantern light, molten gold flowing through his veins and arteries. He thrashed about on the sickbed for two days before dashing to the deck. The men and a star-heavy black sky watched his nude body bend back into an arc before it sparked alight. With a final _goodbye Billy_ the ball of flame apparated into the indifferent Arctic night. 

“What is this madness?” Sir John’s eyes were saucer-wide.

“This place wants us dead,” Crozier announced with a finality that shut the book but left the story incomplete. 

Surprisingly and yet not at all Bridgens and Peglar followed. While they called and whistled to one another across the placid water storm cloud grey feathers popped from their skin. When reunited they set themselves in the corner and plucked and preened until the plumes settled properly on their shrinking bodies. 

“It is our time,” Bridgens stated like those four words alone held the reason for the change. The pancake ice giggled in agreement. Exchanging a glance they nodded. “Please turn back. This place is no home for us.” 

Their clothing began to swallow them, folding around small shapes. Fitzjames parted the pile of fabric to reveal two birds eager to stretch their wings. They circled once, twice, thrice then soared above and away. 

The ships shed men like dandruff. Marines shouted to one another and embraced before stripping their bright red colors to dive into the frigid ocean. Rounded black noses broke the surface and their sharp teeth grinned. They exposed their white bellies while they breached, their flukes slapping the water. There were fish and seals to hunt together; they disappeared into the shadows of the deep.

“I rationalize we are all God’s creatures. But we are made in His image.” Irving spoke to the rest but directed his words to the heavy wooden table. “Will I remain in His likeness if I shed this form?” 

Little extended a hand out of a reflex to comfort as if anything could alleviate their collective fears. 

“They may return to their proper selves yet,” Blanky offered. He rubbed his stiff leg, now too smooth and transparent. All the veins and bones and tendons held frozen in unbreakable ice. Though he felt warm the tips of his fingers and nail beds were blue. They may, they may, they may return. _He_ may return home, carried along the waves to be reunited with his wife.

When he told Crozier they embraced. “I cannot lose my best friend.”

Thomas Blanky kissed his forehead with frost sharp lips. Crozier did not wince when a small line of skin burned and peeled off. “Brother, turn these ships back and we will meet again.” With that, he said his goodbyes to the ships and dropped into the water. A mass of ice bobbed to the surface and the currents swept him away. 

“You won’t leave me.”

It was an order and question. Jopson tucked the blanket around his captain and struggled to ignore the itch in his chest. “I haven’t been planning on it, sir.” 

Crozier poured two glasses and Jopson sipped politely before splashing the remainder into the other. If Crozier noticed he said nothing. He stared through the window at the encroaching ice, the whiskey sloshing in his shaking hand. 

Often Gibson stared into his lantern flame and wondered if it hurt. To be set alight and split apart at the seams, bursting with energy enough to leave the world behind. In his sickbed, Cornelius thrashed and moaned he was moving too fast. William held him down to keep him still. Each kiss left him smarting, each unwitnessed brush of their lips and tongues threatened to blister his skin, but he did not care. He only stopped when any bit of water applied to the forehead or dripped into his mouth evaporated. But nothing looked more beautiful than Cornelius Hickey flaring with gold and crushed pearls. 

_Goodbye, Billy_. His last words, the last words William Gibson heard at night before he collapsed into a fitful sleep, the last words he heard when he uncovered the lantern’s glass and touched the flame. He felt no pain, none at all when lightning splintered his chest open. Spinning and dancing his way into the sky a sudden scatter of fiery sparks grinned their hellos. Hello, hello, _hello, Billy_.

“We will return home,” Crozier stated. Sir John focused on the ice threatening to swallow their path. “We are undermanned. We have barely enough crew to keep one ship afloat.” 

“We will continue on and complete our mission.” He sounded coarse, his now tusklike canine teeth puffing out his lips. The truth lay beyond and with his boots. His leather boots were thick like his hide. Oh, Jane vaguely understood, but no one else viewed the world as he did, a narrow tunnel whispering for his obedience. _Come, come._ “You will see.”

When Crozier made the suggestion to Fitzjames he received a solid punch to his nose. Broken, he assessed. Quite broken, McDonald agreed. 

“Your nose is broken,” Fitzjames noted when he returned a day later. 

“Quite broken,” Crozier nodded, his eyes blackened and small. “You’ve changed your mind.”

“Under duress but we must do as you said.” He slapped the new crew roster to the table. Eight men gone. Crozier skimmed the list and frowned. Goodsir became a writhing mass of crabs and starfish and shrimps. Soon after Gore followed, seal barking his goodbyes and swirling the sinking crustaceans into a joyful cloud. “I’ve already gathered the remaining men and they are in the process of stripping the ship. Tonight.” 

“They have their choice of space. I require your signature in support.” Crozier gestured for Jopson who provided the letter and pen. After a moment of silence and inaction, he sighed with understanding. “James.” 

“He’s a good man, Francis.” He shook his name into the page and buried his face in his hands. 

_Erebus_ emptied its crew and supplies in hours. If Sir John noticed he did not react. Instead, he stood on the deck repeating her name as the ship plowed ahead. The Union Jack flapped proudly in the wind and with that, he was no more. 

“Do you feel the urge to leave?”

Little peered over his book and lied. “We’re going home.” 

“Are we?” Though he kept his eyes focused on Little, Irving kept turning the pages with a loud sweeping sound. “Are we?” Swish, question, swish, question. The ink floated from the paper and swirled into his skin, loops of ebony and crimson rivers until the book was a blank. 

“Oh, John,” Little sighed. He held him through his change. 

Irving wept into Little’s neck. “Elijah witnessed a chariot of fire, taken whole, taken whole. O, Lord, I cry to you my love. Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of hosts.” 

The wings burst from his back in an explosion of light. They swooped around to puncture his chest and fluttered in place. His body became heat and flame and perpetual exuberance. Edward Little kissed him goodbye and watched him chime his way to the Heavens. To serve and attend to His needs in the name of love: John was now home. 

He slept on the deck from then on. His breath formed clouds for the stars to dance through. Among them, he saw a man who could have become a true friend if they had time. The bowels of the ship throbbed and groaned under his spine in time to his breathing. With a tickle, the smallest root slipped past his lips and he understood. Little wrapped himself around the mast and climbed to the sky and into the ship. His place remained here, cutting the waves. His sails flapped and Edward’s engine heart sped them forward. 

Crozier blinked and the ever-present figure in the corner of his eye disappeared. He lost Jopson and yet. And yet Crozier felt quite heavy from supporting too much weight. His hearts pounded violently and he knew. 

_Stand taller,_ Jopson whispered. _Strop the blade five times. Your beard grows in an odd direction below your chin. You do not need your drink. Place the glass aside. You do not need whiskey today._ And Crozier obeyed. Often they walked through the quiet ship and patted the walls. Edward, he thought. Yes, Edward, Thomas laughed. How good to hear such a sound.

No longer did James Fitzjames smile or show any emotion. His face became carved with furrows and lines which grew more prominent as the hours passed. “We’ve abandoned Sir John and lost ourselves.”

“He understands. We will see them again.”

Fitzjames fell into a silence and kept his eyes fixed dully ahead. Crozier stroked his carved marble hair and shut the wardroom door. The walk to the deck felt far longer than it should and each step grew more labored. 

“My time, Thomas. Who will we become?” He was alone, but Jopson held him close. “Ah, I see.” Crozier shut his eyes and felt his limbs stretch into water. Together they flowed over the deck and with a sigh, their hearts ceased.


End file.
